Sava has a youthful human face softened by round cheeks, a small chin, and an earnest smile that appears too quickly for someone built like a brawler. Her orcish heritage shows in the broad bridge of her nose, two short ivory tusks, heavy shoulders, and powerful forearms. She moves with the careful balance of someone accustomed to narrow rafters and crowded kitchens, keeping her elbows tucked in so she does not knock things over. Three pale, permanent scars cross the outside of her left forearm in neat parallel lines, like claw marks made by a metal rake. The unexpected contrast is her hands: broad, callused, and visibly strong, yet usually occupied with delicate work such as mending lace, trimming herbs, or polishing a teacup. Within a minute of meeting her, most people notice that her eyes rarely settle on the speaker's face. They watch exits, hands, belts, windows, and the empty space behind everyone in the room.